


20 Minutes in Fall

by wheelparty



Category: Original Work
Genre: One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 20:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 18,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16981647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheelparty/pseuds/wheelparty
Summary: "31 short stories. 20 minutes. One month."





	1. Battle

**Welcome to 20 Minutes in Fall! This story is a bit different than the others seen, for a few reasons. The reasons can be described as follows.**

**31 short stories.**

**20 minutes.**

**One month.**

**The end result was this collection.**

**It was inspired by a challenge on The Artist's Zone message board, and it was created by the administrator there. For this challenge, writers had to time themselves and do 20 minutes of writing a day, for each day in October. It could be any type of writing, but all word counts had to be logged, and all scenes explained. Writers also do more writing if they wanted, but only the first 20 minutes could be recorded in the challenge.**

**With these rules, I decided to take the challenge. However, I write a lot, and some of my writing can be hard to track (due to heavy amounts of notes and editing).**

**Therefore, I decided to add an extra challenge to make things a bit more interesting.**

**Since I don't write original fiction is much as I do fanfiction, I decided that I would do 31 original short stories for the month of October. Each short story would be written within the 20 minute time frame. I have many prompts available to me, and decided each short story would be answering a single prompt.**

**The prompts, as well as their original writer, are shortly before the accompanying short story. Above that is the date the story was originally written.**

**The prompts are all over the place, so some may be darker than others. However, since each prompt is different, I will not give a warning for every chapter. Because prompts are located above their short story, those interested can read the prompt before the short story begins and skip a chapter if that prompts does not appeal to them. Also, some prompts are used creatively, with a bit of variation in my answer. I will explain that if a chapter does have a creative taken a prompt.**

**Other than that, all prompts are the property of their original writers, see the author's notes for details, and enjoy!**

* * *

_October 1, 2018_

_How'd you get that scar? Most everyone has a scar. Talk about it as if it you were about to get that scar for the first time. Scar free? Then you need to invent one! Or talk about another person's scar as if it was your own._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (pp. 4-6). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Battle**

When I think of scars, I always think of battle.

Heroic knights clashing as they defeat the opposing kingdom, or perhaps a mythical dragon…

Soldiers coming home with scars on both the body and mind…

Or perhaps those with other traumatic experiences, like the pain of a fall that never goes away…

Perhaps that's why I've never thought of my own scars as reminders of my own battle…

But I suppose that could be…

After all, it's a battle against an invisible opponent that will never go away…

Always coming back, always tormenting me, always there…

It's odd, living with the enemy…

But at least, it's manageable…

The faded scar on my back tells the world that.

Of course, it's barely visible now.

After all, I received it almost three decades ago, and time fades just like scars.

But the memory never will.

After all, this was my first strike against the invisible, persistent, foe.

A surgery to slash my nerves, to make it so that I could move easier.

Or something; it has been too long for me to remember the full description.

But I can describe it with two words.

Permanent.

Irreversible.

Yet I decided to go through with it anyway.

Or rather, my family did. I was too young to choose at the time.

But it turned out to be a successful strike.

One that left my foe screaming, staggering, wounded and fleeing in retreat.

For a long time I had the upper hand in the battle.

Except many years later, when I didn't.

For suddenly, the foe came back with a vengeance.

Nothing to keep it at bay.

The painful injections, the brightly colored casts, the talented therapists…

None of their attacks could stop it.

Perhaps I had finally begun to lose.

Fitting then, that I should receive another scar.

This one, a lot less faded.

A large pink and red entity that sits on my stomach.

It makes me part of the pirate club, someone once told me.

A scar that has been received twice over.

Once when I graduated high school, and another when I graduated college.

But it means more than that.

Because inside the scars sits a machine.

It's like a child's toy, or a science experiment.

Maybe the black and gray object could even look like a hockey puck.

But it's not any of those.

It repeatedly attacks the enemy, sending more and more troops constantly.

And the enemy can't keep up, numerous reinforcements swarming.

I hardly even notice, as the action takes place inside of me.

The biyearly appointment to switch out the troops is the only time I see the battle going on.

After all, it's hard to see medicine that is pumped inside of me, unless someone draws it out.

Yet I know that the battle is still going on, and will continue to rage for the rest of my life.

My scars are my constant reminders.

Perhaps I am no knight, with no damsels to save and no dragons to slay.

And I know I am no soldier, as they return home with scars and other wounds I can't even begin to imagine.

But I know I am fighting my own eternal battle, against my persistent, powerful foe.

And my scars will be my proof, now and always.

* * *

**Author's note**

**-So welcome to the first of the prompts. The scars described here are actually real scars that I have in my body. They are in fact from treatments for a medical condition that I have. Since scars are often associated with battle, I thought of treating my medical condition as a battle, and it formed my response to the prompt.**

**-The other attacks described are actual treatments for my condition, although as the story describes, many of them were unsuccessful. The two most successful ones both left scars on my body, which gave me more inspiration.**


	2. Hindsight

**Welcome to another short story! See the author's notes for details, and enjoy!**

* * *

October 2, 2018

You are given the chance to travel back to any point in your life to do things differently. What point do you choose? What do you do differently and how does it affect you now?

Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 6). RAK Press. Kindle Edition.

**Hindsight**

In hindsight, I suppose the change was obvious.

After all, it's exactly the reason why I would travel back and do things over.

But I didn't.

Because I can't.

Even though I would if I could.

And all because the young woman who, several years ago, didn't see the obvious.

Yes, the young woman who walked into a small city college campus when she was 18.

She thought she was ready to teach every child English and Spanish, until there was no more that could be taught.

To devote her life to giving the gift of knowledge, no matter what it took.

To pour her heart out to the masses, and to fill them with the same love of language that she had.

She thought she was determined.

But in reality, she was starry eyed.

Because she didn't see the truth of things.

The old, crumbling, buildings whose malfunctioning equipment made it impossible to get around…

The constantly changing policies that she always disagreed with…

The rooms full of those who lacked discipline, and those who could not control them…

The constant negativity, crowding, and stress…

The panic that came when she realized she could never do things as well as she wanted…

But what if I could go back?

I'd take a different path…

I'd save the young woman pain…

I'd save myself pain…

Because saving the young woman pain is the same as that…

So the young woman would instead choose to go to a different place…

A place in the same college, but it may as well be in an entirely different city…

Because the buildings are new, and constantly welcoming…

A large TV blares, showing the trends of the times…

Students now lounge around in comfortable chairs, and equipment always works…

Many students market various things, with the area always being lively…

There's even an indoor coffee shop before all the rooms…

It isn't bad; she went there a few times during her previous decision…

In fact, the aroma of sweets and coffee makes her mouth water….

It's the place to be before difficult classes…

This place has a name, she realizes…

Hyland Hall, she remembers…

And the area within, the school of business…

Of course, her Spanish would still stay with her…

That was always useful, from what she had heard…

But instead she would head to the new building's halls…

For instead of teaching children, she would teach people how to run companies efficiently…

And she would continue to teach herself, as she went on to the Master's degree she always wanted…

After all, those with the degree always liked business…

That mystical Master's degree…

So close, yet so far now…

It stands before her, but all she can do is tremble with lack of experience and confidence…

And all because of the choices she made…

All because of the choices I made…

The choices I could never change, but would easily go back to…

Because in hindsight, the choice was obvious.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

**-So as the prompt implies, this story is heavily based off of something for my own life. Everything mentioned in this story is a reference to real life events and locations. I also chose to refer to myself in third person for part of the piece, as an artistic choice. It fits the theme of the piece as well, because the person I am after I made the decision is clearly different than the first I was before I made those decisions.**


	3. Splashing Soda

**Welcome back to another short story! As always, enjoy!**

* * *

_October 3, 2018_

_Coffee & Tea: Surely you drink one or the other or know someone who does- write about it!_

_Think Written, 365 Creative Writing Prompts, online website_

**Splashing Soda**

If there were two things I'd seen people guzzle the most, they were coffee and tea.

My mom drank coffee like it was some sort of magical elixir. It didn't matter what type of coffee, so long as it was some form of the dark liquid. She drank it without almost anything, too. She'd have two cups a day or more, and it drove her almost as much as any internal motivation.

Many years ago, in a group of around 40, there was some foreign coffee. The foreign coffee was incredibly strong, yet no one in the group would touch it.

Except for her.

She drank it like a child gobbles candy, and always wondered why there wasn't more. When we left, I was convinced that was the things she missed most.

Of course, she desperately wants to go back.

My dad, on the other hand, is a different story.

He loves tea, or at least he did when I was closer to him.

It's been almost a decade since I asked about his favorite drink.

But I do know that he would do anything for the warm liquid with its steeping teabags. And he would try the myriad of plants and mixes that were available. No matter how bizarre they looked or sounded.

He was always ready, with a dash of honey, and a tea bag in hand.

Of course, my parents introduced me to these drinks.

One, I didn't like, tasting bitter and acidic. The other, I couldn't digest.

But then, I found my own drink.

One that I craved more than anything.

One that woke me up in the morning more than the loudest alarm, just as potent as my parents' drinks were.

It looked dark and foreboding like coffee, but it may not be out of place in a teacup.

The liquid always splashed into my mouth, sweet and bubbling.

It jolted me awake every single day, and sometimes, it even became my lifeline.

This liquid went by completely a different name.

And I knew that name to be soda.

But I also knew there were other types besides the dark companion.

There was a light green counterpart, bringing with it a wave of lemon and lime.

The dark substance brought along friends too, such as mangoes, limes, cherries, and even raspberries.

And then there were still others, such as dark orange variants in large bottles.

Lemon mixtures that sparkled and sweetened.

Dark blue liquids in the largest bottles yet, filled with a strange flavor and an herb called ginseng.

Purple and red drinks made their debut too, bringing along familiar flavors of grape and raspberry.

There was even a pure white variant, with flavors indescribable.

Of course, there was also a drink named Pepsi, that looked so similar to the one I enjoyed so much.

But it didn't taste anything like what I had come to know.

And so it was discarded.

Yet despite all the differences, the drinks had one trait in common.

They were my jolt in the morning, my cravings, things I loved.

There were also my coffee and my tea.

Because I didn't like either.


	4. What's in a name

**Welcome back to another short story! Enjoy!**

* * *

_October 4, 2018_

_How were you named? If you feel that your name is boring and the story behind it equally so, make up a name and come up with an interesting story behind that._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 4). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**What's in a name**

What's in a name?

Many meanings, I suppose.

Perhaps a name is a word used to define something.

Like the tiny female infant who had come three months early.

So small she was barely formed, and not quite expected to survive.

She was the size of a doll, yet contained all the energy of a roaring fire.

But she had arrived in this world so early…

That no one had any idea what to name her.

So her name defined the end of an era.

After all, she was the last of the first generation of cousins.

So it was only fitting that she be named after the first of that era.

She was named after the beginning.

So perhaps the name defined her as the beginning of the end.

Perhaps the name defined her as part of a legacy.

Perhaps the name simply gave meaning where there was once none.

In any case, it was hers from then on.

But there was much more in a name than a simple meaning.

Much more than a dry definition.

Names marked similarities, as well.

Similarities between the first and the last of the cousins.

Similarities between the beginning and the end of the legacy.

Similarities of laughter, interests, looks, extended family…

Even the trials their bodies made them face.

But a name had differences as well.

Differences in many languages…

To the point where it didn't even exist there.

Differences in spelling, as letters weaved together to make the faded word.

Countless mispronunciations, and even more misspellings…

She tried not to roll her eyes as she corrected people over and over…

Her cousin probably had that issue.

That was one other thing she discovered as well.

Many nicknames lie within her name.

And of course her nickname had to be unisex…

It made telling her gender apart even more difficult, and even more awkward when someone got it wrong…

But she enjoyed that name too, and was pleased that her cousin had found her own nickname…

Because the name and the nickname are more than just words…

They were wishes, symbolism, fantasy…

For she discovered the name's true meaning.

The one who brought light and gods.

So she decided to use that hidden meaning for as much as she could.

Stories of gods and goddesses, trying to reach the heavens…

Or perhaps, omnipotent beings that were already there, but for one reason or another, had to descend to the earth.

There were stories of those that forgotten the name, or those that passed it down in their own tales.

Stories of chosen ones, of those that were famous, of power.

Of angels and demons and everything else in between.

Stories of those that had taken their first breath into the world, yet were already more well-known to those that inhabited it for decades.

Stories of other worlds.

Of this one.

Of the past.

Of the future.

Of places that could not be defined at the time.

All had the name.

For it represented wishes, fantasy, power, things she could never have.

But no matter what, there was one thing the name always meant.

And that was that it had countless meanings.

That was what was in the name.

And what would continue to be in it until the name itself ceased to exist.


	5. Food Finders

**Welcome back to another short story! See the author's notes for details, and enjoy!**

* * *

_October 5, 2018_

_Food can be the gateway to great writing. Write about your favorite dish of all time. Make the food appear before your eyes with words._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 6). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Food Finders**

I'd often heard of Valhalla, the place where the bravest and the strongest warriors go when they die, chosen by the All-Father himself.

But then it got me to thinking…

Where did the food finders go?

Not those in search of fancy food, or those who constantly only eat their favorite foods.

The food finders are the ones that traveled the globe, looking for the next food adventure.

They will savor every bite, lick every last morsel, and order whatever comes their way.

No matter how terrifying.

No matter how foreign.

No matter how unfamiliar.

Like the pig noses with the whiskers still attached. Feeling like ham-flavored gummies in my mouth, as I chewed them while looking at historical buildings on the cobblestone streets of Spain.

Or nachos covered in crickets, giving twice the crunch while drizzled in cheese and salsa.

A group of horrified onlookers stares as I greedily devour every inch.

But that's hardly the end.

As I come to the same place the next year to sample pretzels covered with two types of ants while doused in a vanilla coating. The sweetness hits my tongue at the same time as the crunchy ants. They taste like candy in a perfect mixture, with the pretzel adding even more crunch.

Again, people stare. Someone runs to me.

But no one dares do what I did, as I finish the dish off with a smile on my face.

And then I have to complement it with my favorite wine, frozen and made into a popsicle. This one, people do enjoy, but no one gets the same as me.

But even eastern dishes can't scare me away.

Night falls, and a festival of lights brightens the sky.

Once again, I am at a food stand, this time getting a sweet alcoholic drink.

Sake, they call it.

But I only call it a delicacy as it touches my lips, flowing down my throat.

And then…

At the bottom, there's an even sweeter taste.

Something solid, but even tastier than the drink itself.

A jelly flavor, or so I'm told.

Of course, I swallowed all, only wanting more.

And I know I will get more next year.

Around the table, there is no festival, but simply a family dinner of sushi.

I order it an orange, yellowish goo that no one in my family can stomach.

But I eat it in two hearty bites, taking my families' too.

Before long, I've eaten three of them, but I'm still not satisfied.

So I know I must search for that perfect taste.

I must search, as all food finders do.

After all, it is their mission to taste every food we can find, as exotic as possible.

Perhaps only then will they be chosen for the honor of the heavens.

Their own version of Vallaha.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

**-So this idea came up because a lot of my family are food hounds, and some even like trying strange and exotic foods. I happen to be one, and once had a conversation about the idea of a Valhalla for those who liked trying crazy foods. After that, this idea was born. The foods described here are actual foods that I've tried and enjoyed, as well as the reactions of other people have had.**

**-Since I like a lot of different foods, I couldn't pick just one type of food. Therefore, I decide to put some of the strangest food I have eaten in a single piece of writing.**


	6. Craft

**Welcome to another short story! As always, see the author's notes for details, and enjoy!**

_October 6, 2018_

_There is something in your family that is taught from generation to generation. You are now going to teach your child this long lost art. What is it?_

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 25). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

* * *

**Craft**

I smile as I glance down at the young girl in front of me.

She looks up at me with simultaneously curious and wary eyes.

She's always trusted her aunt, but now, she isn't so sure.

Honestly, I can't blame her.

Of course she would be nervous after being told that today was the day she would learn the craft.

A skill has down in my family from generation to generation.

As far back as anyone can remember.

And even times when people can't.

I don't know how long it's been going on, but I know now is the time for it to continue.

And I know the craft starts with an object.

An object with hands tucked behind the trigger, and a muzzle pointing forward.

The object that makes the sound of fireworks.

Yet this is no celebration.

And this is no game.

For here exists something that can be used to fill paper targets with holes.

It can be utilized to knock down cans of beer as they spill their contents as the last defiant act.

Birds made of clay go flying through the air, or perhaps balloons off a boat.

Yet all are helplessly brought to the ground by the object I currently wield.

Yes, there is many a memory I wish to relive. Many a thing I am looking forward to teaching my niece.

Yet not all of it is pleasant.

Wielding this object incorrectly can lead to injuries, at least.

Or it could lead to frightening encounters with those even stronger, filled with misunderstandings and no way of going back.

Used carelessly, it can lead to jail time.

Or even worse.

But used correctly, it can save one's own life.

Used correctly, it can get one out of dangerous situations that otherwise had no solutions.

Used correctly, wielding the object is a source of pride.

So I will teach her all that.

I will teach her the craft.

I lead her into an area littered with objects, watching as her eyes go wide.

I take this time to explain the history of the craft, the countless times where people have trained and fought.

And the countless mementos left behind.

By a person of a previous generation.

Her grandfather, in fact.

And I've decided I will look on with pride as she walks into her first store, and selects the item that will help her pass on the craft to others.

Of course, I will guide her, make it sure she picks out only the best.

But in the end, it will be her choice.

Because she will have her own object that suits her.

And her own method of passing down the craft.

To ensure that generations upon generations still learn it.

And one day I will grow old, having done my duty as a teacher.

But I know that thanks to my teaching, I will always hear the sounds similar to fireworks that the objects put out into the sky.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

**-Some of it of a creative take on the prompt. The prompt says to use a child, but I chose niece instead. The reason is that I can't see myself having children, so a niece would be much more likely.**

**-As for the craft itself, for those who have not guessed before, it's how to use a gun. This is an actual skill passed down in my family, and something that I know how to do. A lot of the experiences in this story are things my family has done with their guns. Some of the more negative things mentioned are warnings and precautions given to make sure the guns are used safely and lawfully (although thankfully, none of these negative experiences have ever happened to my family).**


	7. Dolphin

**to another short story! As always, enjoy!**

* * *

_October 7, 2018_

_Write about swimming._

_Random Subject to Write About, .uk_

**Dolphin**

Those who knew me sometimes said I was part fish.

Or even that I was born a mermaid.

Perhaps, both were accurate names.

But my first swimming instructors called me dolphin.

And it seemed to be quite fitting.

Even more than two decades later.

As I slip on the pale blue top of my swimsuit with its white stripes.

Below it goes black pants, contrasting noticeably against the lightly colored top.

I slip into some other clothing, as though I was born to do this ritual.

Maybe, one might say I was.

Before long, I am ready, and dash out the door.

Almost immediately, my feet hit another type of dry land, full of bustling people.

I expertly weave through them, fishing around in the white bag I carry.

I come out with a colored card, smiling as I hand it to another behind the desk.

Within another minute, I am off again.

The light blue, white stripes, and black pants show themselves.

I bring out the final piece, a rectangular object that neatly fits around my waist.

The clicking of belts fills my ears as I'm strapped in to the device.

With that, my time on land ends.

I am greeted by flowing, yet disturbed water, waves lapping at a tile shore.

Countless people scream and cry, beckoning me to join them.

Yet I ignore the others as my head turns to the left.

There, it is far quieter, with water separated into small narrow lanes. The lanes are further separated by blue lines, and no one dares cross them unless they need to.

And they don't need to, being busy punching and kicking up waves.

My eyes fall to a white stairway, unnoticed by most of the people.

Before long, I am slowly stepping in.

But minutes later, I hurl myself in with my own splash.

Cold water slams into me, yet I utter not one word of protest.

Instead, my body streams forward, propelled like a jet.

Within moments, I am also punching and kicking the water, but the movements are silently and stealthily hidden.

After all, a dolphin does not have to be noisy or noticeable.

But the effect is clear.

I fly through the water almost as though I have wings, covering the areas at a speed that doesn't seem possible for my twisted body.

And I keep going, more and more.

Second turn into minutes.

Minutes turn into hours.

Until I can hardly feel my body.

And it still doesn't seem possible.

Indeed, others notice, and they walk up and ask.

How can I do this so long?

How can I do this so fast?

How can I do this so well?

I grin.

Simply because I'm someone that loves to exercise, I tell them.

Ignoring the still confused stares.

Because there is yet another reason.

One that others might not understand.

And that is the fact that I might not be human.

But instead, a dolphin enjoying the water.


	8. Downpour

**Welcome back to another short story! See the author's notes for details, and enjoy!**

_October 8, 2018_

_The sound of rain fills your ears._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 56). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

* * *

**Downpour**

Instantly, water falls from the sky.

Its slams on the ground, splashing relentlessly.

The water pounds on the rooftop, making a sound louder than a thousand running feet.

And then…

The world begins to change.

The ruthless rain turns innocent roads into watery ice.

Not even sidewalks and school hallways are spared from its wrath.

Endless puddles fill the floor as people futilely scurry for shelter.

Clothes are waterlogged, becoming tattered shells of their former selves.

Countless people are soaked to the bone, shivering and shaking.

Yet the water continues falling as it pays them no mind.

Of course, there are those lucky enough to find shelter in homes, staying as dry as the water permits.

But they remain trapped there, as the water holds them prisoner, knowing they cannot venture out.

Those who must move are trapped as well, but this time within their own discomfort.

Those who walk now slip and slide, as though it is the time of winter snows.

Cars no longer litter the streets, drivers daring not risk lives.

There may be a disgruntled one around, but they will only move for extra pay.

Even the homes suffer, as power flashes in and out.

Light and darkness are constant, as they battle with each other inside the buildings.

Yet the inhabitants to not fret.

Everyone that needs just keeps moving.

The power continues to flicker, and the missing cars make the streets sleep.

Because this is what everyone can expect.

This is just another day during a seasonal downpour.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

**-So this story, like many others in this collection, was inspired by a real-life event. A few years ago, I was teaching in Costa Rica. Costa Rica has a wet, dry, and shoulder season. I went during shoulder season, which is in between wet and dry. What this meant was that whether in the morning would be beautiful and sunny, only to get hit by massive rainfall later on in the day. The rain was just as devastating as this story depicts, as it was based on what I saw during that time.**


	9. Freeze

**Welcome back to another short story! As always, enjoy!**

* * *

_October 9, 2018_

_"He had never experienced snow before."_

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 56). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Freeze**

All of a sudden, cold tore through his entire body.

He shook in horror, realizing he could see his own breath in white, wispy, puffs.

He glanced up, eyes wide in confusion.

What had done this?

He got his answer as another chilling feeling hit the top of his head.

He touched his head, and let out a gasp as he now held something white.

What could be white and cold like this?

Another answer came as he finally realized there was more of the white stuff plummeting from the darkened sky.

It seemed to fall endlessly, giving the ground a similarly white blanket.

More chilling feelings covered his entire body, but this time, he did not shiver.

After all, he may have never seen this thing before.

But he had heard a word once.

Snow.

Right now that word was faint and distant, and he could not recall from where he heard it.

But he knew that must've been what was happening now, as the white powder that descended from the clouds matched every description he'd known.

And yet…

It was just like magic, with the world becoming a different place.

Children trampled the white substance, laughing and playing as though it was no different than normal ground.

Some even made shapes and threw them at each other, although thankfully none were thrown at him.

The whirling of machines filled his ears, and he looked to see a group of daring riders crossing the area.

They seemed to be motorized, as he recognized the roar.

But he couldn't be sure, since this was his first time seeing such machines.

Over at the icy pond, he spotted what looked like fishing gear.

He wondered who would go fishing on the frozen tundra.

Clearly someone, as people left boards with orange flags on holes in the ice.

Perhaps the fish were chased down there.

His mind was directed to yet another sound, but this one moved much faster than the last.

People ran down hills and slopes as if they had wings.

Except they didn't.

It didn't even look like they had feet.

Instead they had something replacing them, laughing as they raced each other.

Another type of race went on soon after, with others riding rectangular objects.

He knew that the object was called a sled, but he did not know the name of the other.

He did know he could relax now, though.

Because there was one thing the people here were not doing.

One thing the white stuff from the sky wouldn't make him do.

One thing he would not do.

And that was to simply stand there and freeze.


	10. The Message

**Welcome back to another short story! As always, enjoy!**

* * *

_October 10, 2018_

_A graffiti artist finds himself doing much riskier pieces._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 60). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**The Message**

I knew I had to do this.

I knew I had to tell the world.

But it didn't make things any easier.

I shuddered.

I had to deliver the message.

People must know!

It could save lives!

But what if it took mine?

What if there was a chance that it was all for nothing?

Well, if I died, I died for a noble cause.

And the chance was just a chance.

But still…

I shook my head.

No matter the risk, the message must be said.

Unfortunately, there was only one way I knew how to tell a message.

So now I stand, with my chalk and paint brushes and any other type of art utensil I can think of.

I walk in the streets, my only companion the darkness of night.

I shiver again. From the cold wind or my own fear, I cannot tell.

I am surprised no one notices me, but it is late.

Perhaps everyone is asleep.

Or maybe I just can't be seen below a moonless sky.

Whatever the case, my feet lead me to my destination.

Hands still shaking, I set down my supplies.

I force myself to steady them, as I reach for my equipment.

It wouldn't do for me to falter now.

After all, I am at my workstation.

The sidewalk is my drawing paper, and the walls the artist's easel.

I know what I am, as everything comes alive with the sound of my moving tools.

And with that comes other names.

Graffiti artist.

Freethinker.

Vandal.

Troublemaker.

I have to force myself to stop from trembling.

I know what I'm doing is already highly illegal.

In the days before, I'd end up in jail.

Now, I'll be lucky if I end up there.

If I'm caught, I most likely won't end up anywhere.

At least, not anywhere in this world.

But someone has to know.

Everyone has to know.

I narrow my eyes.

The government's corruption…

It cannot go unopposed!

That corruption is destroying the people day by day, and most don't even know it.

That's why someone should know.

That's why everyone should know.

And I'm aware I'm one of the few who knows.

So I must write my message, as my art supplies furiously spring to life on the streets and walls.

What I'm doing may land me in jail…

What I'm doing may cost me my life…

But if at least one person knows what's really going on…

Then it will all be worth it…

So I will continue to pass on my message, no matter the risk, using the only way I know how.


	11. Remembrance

**Welcome back to another short story in 20 Minutes in Fall! See the author's notes for details, and as always, enjoy!**

* * *

_You discover your tombstone._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 63). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Remembrance**

I pause as my feet step on the bright green grass. My gaze stares straight ahead, my face without expression.

It wasn't like there was anyone with me, so I could just take my time and relax.

Well, there wasn't anyone with me except the dead.

They had long since been gone from this world, but could always be marked by the tombstones of remembrance.

Stones of all different colors, reaching as high as the sky.

They all had writing, some faded, some fresh.

There were names there too, although they didn't hold any meaning to me.

They probably didn't hold any meaning to anyone anymore.

After all, the souls had long since departed, the faded stone dating back century upon century.

Now was the only reminder that they had ever existed.

Knowing how old the stones were, perhaps it would be the only reminder.

I knew all this, and yet I stepped forward into the final resting place.

I never figured out why I had my bizarre hobby of visiting graveyards.

After all, they were useless without any relatives or known people to mourn.

And yet…

I could always feel a presence lingering in the air.

One could call it ghostly.

Others could call it supernatural.

Still others could call it just crazy.

Yet I wasn't sure what to call it.

All I knew was that almost everyone in my family had the ability to detect the presence, and that I was among the strongest.

So I continued walking, inhaling deeply.

The presence wove itself around me.

Enveloping me.

Guiding me.

Yet for what seemed like the first time, unease crawled down my back.

I had expected the spirits of such an ancient place to be thrilled that a visitor, or perhaps even confused and surprised.

Instead, there was none of that.

Instead I felt anxiety, perhaps a bit of excitement.

They seem to be wanting to show me something…

And quickly.

But what did they want to show me?

It wasn't like there was anything of value in this centuries-old place.

Regardless, I continued to follow the sensation, my feet leading me to the center of the area.

Until last, I saw it.

A tombstone, just as ancient as the others.

With just as much worn writing.

Yet I could still make out the name.

My own.

I cocked my head.

What was my grave doing here?

I certainly wasn't dead yet, nor was I close.

So was this a vision of the future, or someone's idea of a joke?

Carefully, I read the numbers inscribed on the grave.

My eyes widened when I realized what they were.

102 years after my birthday.

I smiled.

I always wanted to live to be a century, and have many stories to tell.

Perhaps my wish would come true.

Yet as I leaned forward, I noticed more text that made grin grow even wider.

_Congratulations! You've beaten the game! Enjoy your golden ending!_

Below the inscribed writing was a game controller and a console, one of the many I played.

I continued grinning. Of course this would be an accurate representation of me, with my hobby that followed me almost everywhere.

And whatever game life had been, I had clearly gotten the most out of it.

That was what happened in every gamer's golden ending.

The grin never left my face as I continued looking.

I had always thought of gaming as a mindless hobby.

But perhaps…

Winning the game of life and ending up among those who had gone centuries before me…

Was a way blending the old with the new.

And my way of remembrance.

* * *

**Authors Notes:**

**-Like many of the stories here, this is based on events in real life. The idea of walking into a graveyard with centuries-old tombstones is based on a real life graveyard not far from where I live. One day, I decided to visit, and it felt both eerie and fascinating. When I found the prompt about finding one own gravestone, I decided to include the experience of my feelings in that answer. The idea of feeling a ghostly presence around graves and having that ability run in the family is based on real experiences as well. It's something that most of my family seems to have, although some of them take the idea further than others.**

**-My tombstone being based on gaming also comes from real experiences. Gaming is a huge hobby that I have, and I actually do often carry smaller gaming systems around with me. Therefore, the idea of life being a game, me beating it by living to the fullest, and then having inscribed on my tombstone was a joke I made. The idea of living over a century and also having my stories to tell is a real-life wish of mine.**

**-For those unfamiliar with gaming terms, a golden ending represents the best ending the player can get in a videogame if multiple endings are offered. These endings are usually the happiest and most conclusive. On the flip side, they are difficult to get, typically boasting specific and often hidden requirements. So achieving one is quite a feat and something worth enjoying.**


	12. Mute

**Welcome back to another chapter of 20 Minutes in Fall! As always, enjoy!**

* * *

_You're an animal who has witnessed a human killing another human. You understand how wrong it is and you want desperately to communicate to someone about it and who did it._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 63). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Mute**

I may not have been able to understand what the two humans were saying, but I knew something wasn't right.

They both had scowls etched on their faces, twisting into snarls as they howled at each other.

They yelled louder than I ever thought a human could, and their eyes were full of unspeakable rage. I thought I could see a bit of something called red in their faces, but I wasn't exactly sure.

Either way, I knew it wasn't a good thing, as the yelling got louder and louder, so deafening it could be heard everywhere.

The howls and screams never seemed to stop, and the humans approached each other with clenched fists.

I shivered, stepping back with my tail between my legs.

What else was a little dog like me supposed to do?

All I wanted to do was turn away, yet somehow I kept my eyes glued on the fight.

But then…

One of the humans pulled out something that was gleaming silver.

A knife, I knew.

Before the other human could do anything, the knife lunged forward.

There was a piercing scream as it sank into flesh. Red liquid poured out of the injured human, and I almost vomited the sharp scent pierced my nose.

Why would the human do this?

How could they handle a fight like this?

Perhaps the one hit would be the end.

Yet the human pulled out the knife, still gleaming and dripping with red sticky liquid.

The knife lunged forward again and again, and there were more screams that grew consistently weaker.

Eventually, the screams turned into soft gargles and the other human dropped to the ground.

He was in a pool of the same red substance than now gleamed on the knife.

Yet the other human didn't even have the slightest care as he simply put the knife away, and walked the opposite direction.

Again my shivering resumed, my tail and body so low I thought I would hit the ground myself.

I might not understand all of what took place, but I understood this.

This was death.

The human was dead.

Never to move or do anything else again.

And all because of another human's anger.

The death was wrong.

This was all wrong.

I had to tell someone.

But how could I?

I could alert another human somehow, and lead them to the scene.

But they might not understand I wanted them to follow me, and they might even think I did it.

I'd heard stories about people in blue who would help humans that had been victims of crimes.

But they also did things to dogs as well.

Some of them horrible, such as being locked away in cages.

And now I was just a wandering dog.

There was no guarantee they wouldn't do the same to me.

I could bark until someone came for help.

But they might not understand what I was barking at.

The humans usually found that annoying, I found out.

And they would probably just tell me to be quiet.

So I just continued shaking, getting lower and lower to the ground.

Perhaps, there was nothing I could do.

After all, I was just a dog.

And dogs were forever mute.


	13. Reality

**Welcome back to another story in 20 Minutes in Fall! See the author's notes for details, and as always, enjoy!**

* * *

_October 13, 2018_

_"I'm just pretending to be sick."_

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 67). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Reality**

I'm just pretending to be sick.

I'm just faking everything.

I was just being lazy, and could get up and go to school if I tried.

There was nothing wrong with me.

Except there was.

And if everyone who denied my illness saw my pale face and dark rings around my eyes, there would be no denial.

For it was the result of not eating for days on end, despite wanting food more than anything.

Even the faintest taste of food would cause pain sharper than the greatest knife to stab through me.

And it would hit my stomach, as if it was tearing it apart from within.

I could do nothing, except grow weaker and weaker.

To the point where I couldn't leave my bed.

The point where sleep was my only escape.

To the point where sometimes I wished I would never wake up.

The dark circles made me look like a raccoon, some said.

If raccoons could hardly walk.

For days and days without food meant days and days without drink.

Except when loved ones came in and forced me to swallow liquid that felt like sand.

Didn't want me to die, they said.

Didn't want me to end up in the hospital, they said.

Except when the latter happened anyway.

With the blaring sirens and the white ambulance.

Or the frantic screeching of a speeding car.

Or even the hum of countless machines.

My only hope of staying alive.

Yet somehow, I made it through it all.

All the time. Every time.

I never understood how or why.

After all, I was weak.

So weak…

So much so that I could barely walk.

So much so that these incidents happened at least once a month.

So much so that I talked to everyone I could, desperately seeking help.

Yet all that was seen as a pretender.

A faker.

Someone who had nothing wrong and nothing better to do.

Someone who just wasn't strong enough to face their life.

After many years, perhaps that was the case…

Perhaps there would never be help, because there was nothing to help.

But then…

The episodes that came…

There were so vivid, so deadly…

They couldn't just be all in my head…

Could they?

That's what I think as I'm surrounded by the white walls of the doctor's office.

I've been here countless times with no answer.

Today will be no different.

Or so I think.

The doctor comes in, and does a thorough exam.

It is typical.

Routine.

Boring.

It won't get me anywhere.

Yet the doctor looks at me, and states two words.

My eyes widen.

There's a name.

An association.

A match.

It was only discovered recently, the doctor tells me. That's why no one found out before.

Yet I can barely hear her.

Because her words mean something else.

I am no pretender.

No fake.

Not someone with nothing better to do.

Because there is a name, and a reason.

Because this is reality.

* * *

**Authors Notes:**

**-The story here is taken from my experience with a real-life illness. For over two decades, I suffered from an undiagnosed illness that no one seemed to know how to treat. It also made me incredibly sick, with the attacks just like those described in the story. However, since it was one of those illnesses whose symptoms are not easy to see and can be mistaken for other more benign ailments, I was constantly accused of faking sick. Even when I finally did find out what was happening and received treatment, it took years for the treatment to work.**


	14. Monster

**Welcome back to another story in 20 Minutes in Fall! See the author's notes for details, and as always, enjoy!**

* * *

_October 14, 2018_

_The black object under your bed._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 69). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Monster**

A lot of times, I'm afraid to go into my bedroom.

I dread crawling into my bed at night.

And sometimes, I can't sleep.

Because I know there's a monster unlike any other lurking beneath.

It happens every single night, without fail.

The monster slinks in, unnoticed.

Unhindered.

Unstoppable.

Of course, others could set traps, and I have tried.

But the monster avoids them all.

I've tried telling every authority I know about the monster.

But they just dismiss me as a foolish soul.

So I lay awake in fear, hoping that the monster will not devour all.

Luckily, it doesn't.

But it's hardly any cause for celebration.

Because what the monster does do is much worse.

I can sense its presence as soon as I enter my bed.

It simply lies in wait, no matter what I do.

And then the chaos begins.

The monster's growls and screams pierce the night, as it keeps away anyone that would dare to try to rescue me.

Sometimes, it pins me to the area, and I am unable to escape from its torture.

Other times, its howls turn into a chilling demand, and I have no choice but to obey its orders.

Unless I wish to be exposed to more of its unspeakable cruelty.

But perhaps the cruelty will follow me forever.

Because even in the day, I am not safe.

The monster has found out how to escape from its lair, and still no one tries to stop it.

So it proceeds to follow me everywhere, trying to force me to agree to its demands.

Every day, every week, every hour, every minute is spent in the monster's torment.

For it jumps on me at the most unsuspecting moments, screaming for attention.

Sometimes it has allies, other monsters, and it doesn't hesitate to bring them along.

When they all gang up on me, I know I am hopeless.

But even if I escape from the house where the monster resides…

It makes sure I am still in danger.

Because it follows me outside, to almost any event I may go to.

It's been in parades, stealing the attention as it rides around with me.

It's been in school, trying to teach a lesson that I've never been able to figure out.

It's been in hospitals, spreading its torture amongst the patients.

Pharmacists know its name, as they are forced to give it offerings.

Horses are shocked as the monster shows up, fleeing for their lives upon seeing its presence.

It becomes the star of plays, stealing the stage and the crowd's attention.

No matter what, the monster always follows.

So there have been a brave few that have believed me about it, and have ventured into the monster's lair.

Yet their hopes of slaying the beast are dashed, as the ferocious monster scurries away.

So I've resigned myself to living with the monster that torments me in all of my life.

But then…

Perhaps living with the beast is so not bad.

After all, it's not everyone that has such a loyal monster.

Loyal enough to follow me everywhere, and guard me from any and all threats.

Yes, perhaps the monster is not truly a monster at all.

Perhaps it's only a black and white tiny dog who takes up residence under my bed.

**Author's notes:**

**-So this story is inspired by something in real life. I actually did used to own a black and white dog who enjoyed hanging out under my bed, especially at night. I always joked that he was a monster that lurked under my bed. The other details in the story described other things that the dog used to do, and experiences I had when I took him places. I remembered the joke about him being a monster under my bed when I saw this prompt, and the short story was born.**


	15. The Weapon

**Welcome to another new story in 20 Minutes in Fall! See the author's notes for details, and enjoy!**

* * *

_October 15, 2018_

_A new law is causing an uproar._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 69). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**The Weapon**

Today, the new law was put in place.

The federal government agreed, and it rapidly spread throughout the country.

From this day forward, everyone is allowed to wield the weapon, regardless of where they are in the country or what place they inhabit. Any restrictions on wielding the weapon are prohibited, aside from the very specific cases. Children still cannot purchase the weapon, but they're allowed to wield it if it is bought by an adult. Children may also be trained in the weapon, via classes or family, so that they may use it to defend themselves.

From this day forward, no one shall be unarmed.

The law was simple enough, its instructions clear.

And yet the people rallied against it.

The protests, the screaming, even the violence, all because of one law.

The weapon has taken so many lives! How can we trust this law to keep others safe?

Does the government truly want the weapon to be in the hands of inept people?

There will be so many that don't know how to use it!

And many others that don't know what to buy!

And what of the cost to keep every place armed?

And how many people will it take to do it?

How will the stores react, being forced to stock so many products that might not even be sold?

Yet the ruling struck down all the questions, as cold as a judge's gavel.

The fact that there has been so much blood spilled with the weapon is why people must defend themselves with it. That is why as many people must have access as possible.

The protesting grow louder, the screams more vicious, the message clearer.

Yet, in the end, the ruling prevailed.

Protests stopped.

Ominous signs came down.

New people entered places they had never seen before.

Stores sold a product almost long since forgotten.

Shoppers came in droves.

Children trained.

As did the world.

All because of the weapon.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

**-So the story is actually inspired by one of my other ones. In that story, powerful supernatural creatures roam freely. The best way for people to protect themselves is to tame and use other supernatural creatures. However, some people can't do that, or feel uncomfortable doing so. So the government eventually decides to legalize guns everywhere, so that regular civilians will have a chance to properly protect themselves against the creatures. Everyone other than the obvious exceptions is given access to them, and the new law is strictly upheld. This causes an uproar, but the law remains in place.**

**I got this prompt while I was writing the scenes for the above part of the other story, and this one naturally followed (minus the supernatural elements and reasons, and leaving the weapon ambiguous).**


	16. Glamour

**Welcome to another story in 20 Minutes in Fall! See the author's notes for details, and enjoy!**

* * *

_October 16, 2018_

_The assassin's apprentice._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 69). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Glamour**

When I joined the assassins, I knew there really wasn't going to be much splendor.

After all, what could be gorgeous about killing people as a living?

But still…

I expected some sort of beauty to it.

Something… Almost supernatural.

A lithe figure, coated in black…

Climbing her way through anything from sewers to air ducts, and then dropping below from the silence of darkness to deliver her fatal strike…

And then she would vanish, before anyone could find her…

The only sign of her ever being there was the life she had extinguished…

In her hands, she would hold her favorite weapon, built just for her…

And with its power she would deliver justice, its silent enforcer…

Of course, she would never let anyone know what she thought…

For an assassin carried no emotion, only knowledge of missions failed and succeeded…

They had to, for such was part of their duty…

And yet…

When I mentioned all this to my mentor, she only laughed out loud…

My eyes went wide.

How could assassins laugh like that? They were supposed to be expressionless!

And what I just described…

That was what assassins were, wasn't it?

But my mentor only shook her head, eager to correct my starry-eyed description…

Apparently it was nothing like that…

Any clothing and weapons were to blend in…

And neither were ever special…

They would make an assassin a walking target, and who could afford that?

Assassins were rarely dealers of justice, because there was no justice to be dealt…

The jobs were often the most boring ones, simply targeting the common folk…

Many of the higher-ups were too well protected, and after all, who else would take a job to kill someone?

My thoughts darted around frantically.

If this was how assassins were…

Then, couldn't they at least have some special technique with them?

I've heard the stories of assassins who seduced their victims…

And when the victims were too enamored to fight, the assassin would strike…

It was the perfect attack, wasn't it?

But my mentor merely shook her head again.

Nowadays, anyone would be able to find out the identity of those who used seduction.

It may have been a tactic in ages past, but the DNA evidence existed now.

The only thing seduction was good at was getting oneself killed.

About as good as sneaking through air ducts (although my mentor had to admit that was better).

And to be completely emotionless was impossible for a normal person…

So assassins tried to control their emotion as best they could, knowing that it would still strike at times…

Like now as I simply sat, my dreams crushed, pride deflated…

I thought that assassins would have a certain beauty, a certain air about them, as they did their work…

Yet there was nothing of the sort.

And the only thing that I had gotten right about being an assassin was there wasn't going to be much glamour.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

**-So this story was actually inspired by concepts I'd written for one many years ago. In that story, I wanted the main character to eventually train as an assassin's apprentice, in a group where assassins were all female. However, I started doing some research, and came across a site that cleared up misconceptions about assassins. Unfortunately, I realize the character would make a very poor choice for an assassin because she not only believed all the stereotypes shown in this story, but also preferred and was much better at direct combat. Therefore, it didn't take much to turn the original idea and what I'd found out much later on into a story of its own.**


	17. Fix

**Welcome to another story in 20 Minutes in Fall. As always, enjoy!**

* * *

_October 17, 2018_

_An alcoholic enters a bar he's never seen before. It's populated by the ghosts of people killed as a direct result of alcohol._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 70). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Fix**

He frowned as he headed in search of another bar.

He had to find one.

And fast.

He had to find his drink.

His lifeblood.

His fix.

After what seemed like hours of being on the prowl, he finally spotted one.

This was not a bar he had seen before, and he knew the area well.

Nevertheless, this would be as good as any.

So he crept inside, eager for the taste of a drink to hit his lips.

Yet as soon as he took his first step, he gasped.

There didn't seem to be any patrons in this bar.

All he could find was mangled, pale-faced wraiths.

He could see they had some sort of aura around them, although it wasn't any he recognized. After all, he thought that ghosts were only stories.

What he did recognize was that all of the ghosts' eyes bore into him, and he had every urge to back away.

Yet he didn't.

Couldn't.

Instead, his words came out shakily.

"Who are you? What are you all doing here?"

Two of the ghosts floated forward, eyes full of sorrow.

Chills ran down his back as they spoke softly.

"We are all victims of the very drink you crave."

His eyes went wide.

How could that be?

That shouldn't be possible….

Yet one of the ghosts continued to speak.

"I was killed when a drunk driver ran me over."

Abruptly, the other ghost beside him spoke.

"And I was the killer. Not something I'm proud of, mind you."

He staggered backward, but another ghost blocked his way.

This one couldn't have been more than 16 years old, and his young voice floated above the others.

"I decided to binge drink with a bunch of my friends. None of us made it."

At his word, a bunch of other ghosts crept up, the same sorrow present in their eyes.

He didn't have to guess they were the friends the leader spoke of.

Yet an older one suddenly strode to the center of the group. He noticed the ghost was probably in its 20s, but still carried youth in eyes.

Its shameful eyes, with a voice even more so.

"I was the one who hosted the party they all died at, and got locked up in a prison cell. Unfortunately, I would never see the light of day, because it was there I lost my own life."

Before the man could speak to the ghosts any more, another young one strode up.

"I thought I was so clever, going to a foreign country where the drinking age was younger. I wanted every last drop. But the drinks were far too strong, and my body couldn't take it. The ones who found me said that I was dead before my body even hit the ground."

He was now aware of his own pale face.

To think that all these people had died so young!

And all because of the drink he wanted…

That couldn't be!

Yet he found himself exhaling a sigh of relief as an older figure strode forward.

Yet that relief was short-lived as he noticed the figure was covered in wounds.

None of the others had wounds.

What had happened?

The wounded figures spoke sternly.

"I was just having my own drink at a bar, when a brawl broke out. I tried to escape and get to safety, being an innocent bystander. But I was unlucky, as one of the drunks caught me. Being unprepared, I didn't last long."

His eyes were so wide he thought they could fall out of his head, as the ghosts' voice seemed to echo as one.

"What you seek is no fix. Only a pathway to death and destruction. Change your ways. Solve the problems you're running from. Or you will end up just like us. Doomed to wander for all eternity."


	18. Communicate

**Welcome to another story in 20 Minutes in Fall! As always, enjoy!**

* * *

_October 18, 2018_

_The main character somehow speaks every single language._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 72). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Communicate**

How good it felt to communicate!

To have every single word ever possibly known come flowing to my lips.

To have the world united, even if it was only through conversation with me.

To be able to speak every vowel, every constant, every word, every sentence…

Every language.

Ah yes, it meant so much more than having a way with words.

It meant tearing down the barriers that kept mankind apart…

It meant being able to read every work that had been created and ever would be…

It meant getting knowledge that would've been impossible to find before…

It meant being able to weave every word into writing, no matter what it was…

Most of all, it meant that my passion could truly manifest…

It had been years, yet I still remembered how I had gotten this ability.

Things were simple, really…

Magic existed in this world, coming in every form one could think of…

Oh, there were the classical elements…

Fire, water, earth, and wind…

And then there were others, such as lightning and ice…

Darkness, poison, light, and even something that represented all things holy…

And then there was the element that towered above all, something that I could only dream of wielding…

But magic worked differently for every person, it seemed…

It was often a person's passion come to life, I had heard…

And so languages was mine, with this being my passion…

And I had cherished it ever since.

I still remember when I read my first works in the other tongues, as clearly as though they were my own…

How comfortable, how enthralling, it had been!

And then, when my family learned of my magic, they said they were not surprised.

After all, they all knew about my love for languages, ever since I read my first book at an age far younger than any child had a right to…

And with this magic came pride, from both them and me…

For with this, my dreams could come true…

My dream of communicating with everyone…

My dream of knowing all the words…

My dream of reading every work I wanted, had wanted, and could ever want…

My dream of being able to write down every thought that came to my head…

But most of all…

My dream of being able to unite the world.

Through language, and the ability to communicate.


	19. Rallying Cry

**Welcome to another story in 20 Minutes in Fall! See the author's notes for details, and enjoy!**

* * *

_October 19, 2018_

_You've organized a militia. Today is the day you've prepared to launch a rebellion._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 72). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Rallying Cry**

At last, today was the day.

All our hard work would finally pay off.

We would finally reap the fruits of our labor.

Today, we would launch our rebellion.

It had taken _weeks, months, years_ to get to this point…

Yet we had held fast through everything.

We had sent our spies into the depths of enemy territory…

We had destroyed countless supply lines, taking the goods for ourselves like Robin Hood and his band of noble thieves…

Some of those had been lucky enough to seize control of the supplies we fought for, although not everyone had made it out alive…

We had watched as poor innocents had gotten caught in the crossfire, knowing that avoiding this was an impossibility in war…

We threw our own lives on the line as some of the government's people took notice of us…

They were better equipped, well-fed, and healthier… Those unlucky enough to provoke them were at a severe disadvantage…

But we had learned from our mistakes…

Our locations were scattered…

Numerous…

Countless…

There was no way the enemy could pick us off…

And having multiple locations meant more of the common people knew about us…

And that meant more support…

Whether was there cheers of approval or directly joining the cause, the common citizens pledged themselves to us…

And there were foreign powers, too, that heard of our power and success…

Within time, some lent their strength…

With power like that, the enemy had to know that we were just as formidable as they were…

That they couldn't stop us…

Oh there were some weaknesses we had, to be sure…

Even with all our strength, we still had to watch out for the enemy's advantages…

And there were those that had less than noble reasons to join, or those that had nothing better…

But today was not the time to worry about weaknesses.

Because now all our hard work had come to fruition.

And that would be our rallying cry.

**Author's notes:**

**-So, unlike most of my other works, this story is written in second person. The reason for this is when I got the prompt, I got the idea of the rebellion leader speaking to (or at least thinking about) their people. So I decide to write it from that point of view. The idea for some of the details in this story came when I found out about as I then explained issues with rebellions not typically seen in fiction. I found those issues interesting, so they became the basis for this story.**


	20. The Curse

**Welcome to another short story in 20 Minutes in Fall! As always, enjoy!**

* * *

_October 20, 2018_

_The cruise ship you are on passes through the Bermuda Triangle._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 72). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**The Curse**

The ship continued on its leisurely way.

It tore up waves, yet not even the slightest disturbance was felt.

Instead, the passengers continued to sing and dance, their merry mood filling every corner of the ship.

People stuffed themselves with plates piled high with their favorite foods, and the deafening chatter of countless passengers could be heard everywhere.

If one were to walk in, it was clear that the only expression would be happiness for everyone.

Everyone, except for me.

As the ship made short work of the waves, I only shuddered.

Seasickness didn't seize hold of my body, and I certainly wasn't terrified of all the people here.

Nor did I eat or drink too much; I had made sure of that.

No, I shuddered when I looked out the windows.

The water was peaceful now as the ship cruised over the waves.

For the unsuspecting passengers, nothing was happening.

Except I was not among the unsuspecting.

For I knew I was approaching something much deadlier.

Soon the ship would pass into treacherous waters.

And then it would invoke the curse.

I shivered again.

Bermuda Triangle…

A place with that even the most hardened sailors spoke of in fear…

A place where even the bravest dared not go…

A place where ships were lost forever…

A place of darkness, death, and destruction.

And this ship was on its way to it…

With hundreds of people unaware.

I shuddered again.

No one truly knew what happened to ships that passed through the Bermuda triangle.

And now, no one dared think about it.

Or perhaps they simply weren't thinking about it.

Maybe they didn't know.

But I knew, and I thought.

So…

What would happen to the cruise ship?

Would it just disappear, hundreds of people whisked to oblivion?

Would all those people lose their lives today, never to see loved ones again?

Would they end up in a land they'd never seen, yet unable to tell anyone about it?

Would they be stranded in the triangle forever?

I shuddered.

There were no true answers, yet no going back.

All I could do was watch as the triangle loomed closer and closer, praying that all would survive this deadly voyage.

Perhaps at least one person would not fall victim to the curse.


	21. Ideas

**Welcome back to another short story in 20 Minutes in Fall! See the author's notes for details, and enjoy!**

* * *

_October 21st, 2018_

_You find the reason you've been getting so many headaches lately._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 73). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Ideas**

It seemed almost every day, the headaches came.

They stopped me in my tracks with their wrath, making even the simplest tasks impossible.

Sometimes I would try to shut my eyes, or lie down.

But it would do nothing, as the headaches raged on.

Tearing me apart in their fury…

Pounding inside as if they would burst out of my head…

No medication, no home remedy, no therapy did anything…

Which is why I found myself standing within the white walls of the doctor's office.

He looked me over for what seemed like an eternity, stethoscope and other equipment examining every inch…

It seemed like there was nothing he could miss; I desperately hoped that that was the case.

Perhaps he would offer me some relief…

But his face stayed deep in thought, and I resisted the urge to let my shoulders slump.

Maybe even he could not treat my symptoms…

But if he couldn't, then who could?

Yet all of the sudden, the doctor's face lit up.

He stated calmly that he found out what was wrong with me.

I let out a sigh of relief.

Perhaps I would finally get somewhere.

Yet nothing could have prepared me for what he said next.

It's the ideas, the doctor explained.

I blinked.

The ideas?

What did that have to do with anything?

And then he explained more.

It was the characters, the settings, the words…

Everything my constantly creative mind had come up with…

And then there was even the music, with melodies and harmonies playing as they added to the writing…

And then there was what happened here, in the monotony of reality…

Occasionally, something would come, a spark that ignited a fire…

And then the fire would become a burning blaze, destroying all of the monotony…

And bringing forth new ideas, as stories merged with reality…

And with that, new triumphs, defeats, problems, and solutions for the ideas…

And of course, what they created…

Everything merging into the setting, the characters, the mood, the music, the time, the inspiration…

And with that came new headaches…

For the ideas needed to claw their way out of my head…

Needed to be put to page…

Needed someone to remember them…

And there was only one way to let me know…

So I probably didn't have a conventional care, with an easily identifiable cause.

But at least I had the name.

And all because of my ideas.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

**So the story was actually inspired by a joke. Writing is one of my biggest hobbies, so I often have a lot of different ideas for stories at once. I always joked that the ideas were crashing around in my head, and that that would eventually burst out of it. So when I got this month, I remembered that joke, and thought that the concept of my ideas themselves giving headaches was an interesting one. The result was this story.**


	22. Beasts

**Welcome back to another short story in 20 Minutes in Fall! See the author's notes for details, and enjoy!**

* * *

_October 22, 2018_

_Alternate Universe: Dinosaurs coexist with humans._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 73). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Beasts**

I wasn't sure was that it was to revive the beasts.

Some crazy scientist's, I suppose.

I only knew that it had taken a long time, and there were many objections.

Where will they live?

What will they eat?

How will they survive?

How will humans survive with them?

What if they all die?

What if it's all a waste?

But the scientists dismissed those concerns.

And so, the beasts were born.

Or rather, they lived again.

With a few changes, of course.

The environment in the modern world was not suitable for them, quite unlike the warm and wet place they'd remembered.

So it was time to create a new type of lizard.

One that could withstand almost any type of temperature.

A warm-blooded lizard, creators claimed.

Some argued that warm-blooded lizards were no longer lizards, but apparently, that idea worked.

But others still protested.

What of the beasts' size?

They'd devour all resources!

The carnivores might even eat humans!

Some were known as terrible lizards, after all!

But the creators argued they had a plan for them, too.

Simply make them smaller, as small as local wildlife.

The ones that were small could stay small, of course, but even some of them got shrunk down, within time.

There would be plenty of the creatures introduced for the carnivores to feed on.

And any invasive species problems would be handled by the scientists themselves, along with experts on animals in the modern world.

Of course, many of the new creatures would be too small for them to destroy modern predators anyway.

Or at least, the modern creatures could take on the ancient revived ones in a fight.

Provided they ever clashed.

And so proposals went through, paperwork was signed, data was collected, experts came together…

And after many years, the beasts were born.

Reborn, perhaps.

And now, things were changed forever.

Birds with needlelike beaks and giant wings soared the skies.

The king of all lizards roamed alongside other animal kings.

Three horned beasts charged with other creatures in their herds.

Gentle giants with long necks plucked leaves off the trees, ones that even the tallest of the modern animals could not reach.

The ancestor of all birds flew alongside its descendants.

And some of the smallest of them had even found homes.

I remembered how many of them I played with as if they were modern pets.

After all this time, I still wasn't sure whose idea it was to revive the creatures, but I knew one thing.

For the better or the worse, the world would never be the same, because humanity now lived with beasts.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

**-So this idea stemmed from a museum I traveled to years ago. This museum was studying mammoth fossils, and one of the things that visitors could read about was whether it was feasible to resurrect a mammoth. So I took that idea and applied to dinosaurs. However, I made a few changes to them, trying to take into account how they would realistically survive in the modern world amongst their descendants. The end result was this story.**


	23. Strangeness

**Welcome back to another short story in 20 Minutes in Fall! As always, enjoy!**

* * *

_October 23, 2018_

_An alien's first trip to Earth is on Halloween. It knows nothing of the holiday._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 74). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Strangeness**

When my sister convinced me to take this vacation to Earth with her, I knew some things would be strange.

The problem is, I didn't know just how strange.

For what we witnessed when I arrived wasn't like anything I had seen before, or could ever be prepared for.

The first thing that greeted us was orange lights against a blackened sky. I noticed there were some black decorations too, but I couldn't make out what they were in the darkness.

My sister had mentioned that humans liked to fill darkness with lights, but she had never mentioned anything like this.

Why were all the lights orange?

And then there were even odder objects.

They were round, and clearly not alive.

Yet someone had taken the initiative to carve faces on them, as though they were.

And the faces ranged from the goofiest grin, to the saddest frown.

There was everything in between, and some weren't even faces.

I even spotted one of the rounded objects next to a bunch of empty bottles. Near it was a lot of yellow, almost leafy, material.

I wanted to see what it was, but I didn't dare step in it.

It could have been something harmful, and I wouldn't know until it was too late.

Nevertheless, the rounded objects all seemed to be communicating a message.

If only I could figure out what it was.

And that wasn't the only message.

No, there were more messages carried through some type of music.

There was music back where my sister and I lived, but nothing like this.

I strained my ears, hoping to catch a familiar note, or even just a similar sound.

But there was nothing.

Only songs that carried terrifying tones one minute and were laughing gleefully the next.

And it wasn't just what I could hear that made this day so odd.

There appeared to be monsters everywhere, although my sister had never mentioned anything of the sort.

I could see ones with white sheets that made howling noises, accompanied by creatures made only of bones. Some appeared to be armed with long, curved, weapons, although this clearly wasn't a time of war.

And there was something even more peculiar.

Each of the monsters carried some sort of basket or bag.

Clearly, they were hunting for something, but for what, I still didn't know.

This wasn't any sort of hunt for live prey, as there were was no blood or dying screams.

Instead, there was only cheery laughter, with the monsters holding up some sort of packaged treat.

I shook my head as I watched them run.

I may not have known what was going on, but I did know one thing.

This was my introduction to the strangeness of Earth.


	24. Wishful

**Welcome to another short story in 20 Minutes in Fall! See the author's notes for details, and enjoy!**

* * *

_October 24, 2018_

_The novel you are reading sounds familiar. The more you read on, the more it becomes apparent that the character you're reading about is you. That's right, I'm talking to you. The person reading this prompt right now. This entire novel is about you._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 74). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Wishful**

I couldn't understand why anyone would want to write a novel about me.

Oh I was gifted despite being physically disabled, a combination that was very rare.

And I had traveled a lot, getting degrees in subjects that people typically didn't see, and had accomplished the feat speaking another language…

I also exercised a lot, especially with my condition, and there was my unconditional love for language and music…

Even extending to learning itself.

But all these were unremarkable; anyone could have them.

It could have been rare to have them all together, I supposed.

But then again I wasn't walking any celebrity's red carpet, with cameras flashing in my face or people shouting my name.

The only roads I walked were bland gray sidewalks, and any carpets I walked on were just a regular part of buildings.

I always cringed at a camera's flash, and was eternally grateful they weren't in my face often.

No one shouted my name, at least no more than any other person's.

At least, I should hope so.

Yes, no one would write a novel about me.

Unless I wrote it myself.

And even then, what had done wasn't enough.

I'd accomplished things in my life, yes, and I still had a lot of time to go.

But there needed to be more.

There needed to be…

Something different…

Something interesting…

Something transfixing…

Something cathartic…

Something wishful…

Wishful.

Something that the audience could wish upon themselves, and something that I wished myself to be…

And so the stories came.

Of dragons, of power, of riches, of royalty…

Of magic, of monsters, of everything mythical…

But with that also came combat, heartbreak, and loss…

Of magic being misused, power in the wrong hands, riches and royalty dwindling away…

Blood and battles almost constantly…

Dragons and monsters acting like the fearsome creatures they were, instead of the stalwart allies I had always seen them as…

Fear and uncertainty gripping like claws, with death hovering over their shoulders…

Even some who wanted death, and then it was clearly preferable…

But there was always something that made me want to go back…

Something that made others want to go back…

A single trait that the story had…

And that was being wishful.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

**-So this story is inspired by several other stories that I have written throughout the years (and in some cases, continue to write) and my experiences writing them. In my stories, I am fond of creating author avatars. Author avatars bear some similarities to the author, but there are often changes to make them fit into the setting of the story they are part of. Thus, the author avatars had a lot of similarities to me. However, many of my stories involved things such as magic, royalty, and combat, so the author avatars were adapted to fit that setting. The stories also take some inspiration from real life, so even though the character representing me has changed, the story is still about me. Effectively, I was almost writing a novel almost myself. Therefore, as soon as I got this prompt, I thought of those stories, and thought this would be a perfect fit.**


	25. Last Time

**Open to another short story in 20 Minutes in Fall! As always, enjoy!**

* * *

_October 25, 2018_

_The final song ever written._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 75). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Last Time**

I didn't know much about music, but I knew what it symbolized.

It was eternal, a language that everyone could communicate in fluently, and constantly be understood.

There wasn't a place in the world that didn't create the powerful tool known as music.

From ancient times to centuries later, to centuries even further into the future.

But what if…

That changed.

What if the music and all that it symbolized was not eternal?

What if all the power it had waned, and was made useless?

What if the language that every person in the world could speak started disappearing?

What would the final words be?

The final notes, written in pitch black ink, dancing on lines on a blank white sheet of paper.

What would they say?

What would they symbolize?

What would the sounds be, if they could be played?

Would they be like rappers, sometimes belting out the words even into the streets, carrying a message clearer than ever?

What if it was based on the songs from ancient ages, being revived for one final time?

Or maybe a song from what was known as the New Age, with its bizarre instruments creating a tone nothing else could replicate.

Perhaps the song would be classical, with its instruments and music blending beautifully in harmony.

Of course, it could be rock, with a song harder than the substance it was named after.

Holiday songs existed as well, with one last one being played for a special occasion.

Maybe this would not be a song at all, but something to be accompanied by the movement of feet.

If that accompanying sound would ever come again.

Or perhaps the background would be instruments.

The different inanimate voices weaving together to create the perfect tune.

Provided they would ever come together again.

And then there were those sounds composed by machines.

So different, they were, but beloved by many.

A universal language for those that chose to indulge.

Unfortunately, there was nothing certain about the song now.

Except for one thing.

This would be the last time that music touched the earth.


	26. Malfunction

**Welcome to another short story in 20 Minutes in Fall! See the author's note for details, and enjoy!**

* * *

_October 26, 2018_

_When a routine fire drill begins, you get the feeling it is anything but routine._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 75). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Malfunction**

The deafening, wailing, siren filled the air as my room became surrounded with white lights.

I could hear a low, serious voice, telling everyone that there was a fire emergency and to get out of the buildings.

All I could do was sigh.

This was a common occurrence on my college campus, it seemed.

But what not common was that this was around 7:30 in the morning.

Or maybe even earlier; I hadn't the time to check.

For I was soon rushing down the hallways, countless books and a dangling laptop bag in hand.

Perhaps this was just a drill, but I could never be sure.

I had to escape.

After all, drills never went off this early in the morning.

It wasn't long before I burst of the doors, immediately greeted by the rush of cold air that slammed into my face.

A grim reminder that it was still late fall, and that winter was coming.

But what was also coming were countless people.

After all, hundreds of students lived in the same college dorm I did, so I needed to make room.

Perhaps some of the students even had same thoughts I did.

First appeared the head of the dorm halls, surprisingly calm and awake for what had happened. On a leash was her large dog, sniffing around and curious as ever.

I had never liked the current dorm hall director, because she didn't seem to handle complaints very well.

Of course, it was to be expected, considering most of the complaints were about the dog that strained on the leash in front of her.

The thing was a menace, destroying windowsills and often barking late into the night.

And his owner would make up whatever excuse to keep him around.

She apparently had her reasons, and needed the job.

But it was still quite a pain.

I suppose I could tolerate them for now, as they stood next to me.

But my attention was jerked away from the owner and the dog as the hundreds of other students began shuffling behind me.

Many of them still looked like they were asleep, resembling the undead as they barely walked.

Undead or no, they seemed to have a purpose as they shuffled into the neighboring residence hall.

For what, I didn't know. There wasn't much there except bathrooms.

But then came the custodians, trying their best to smile, as they attemped to figure out the situation.

And then there were more students sprinting down the sidewalk, some dressed in little more than bath towels. Still others held their equipment, clearly signifying that a morning shower had been ruined.

I tried not to laugh at the sorry sight before me.

After all, I still had no idea what was going on. And there was clearly no fire. I couldn't exactly blame the other students for feeling the way they did.

I let out another sigh.

At least I had been ready for class when the alarm went off.

Within minutes, it was over and everyone filed back in.

The morning routine then resumed, except for one thing.

The unending annoyance that was felt when it was discovered the fire alarm had undergone a simple malfunction.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

**-So like many of my stories, this one is based off of the real-life events. I lived on a college campus for a few years, and it was common for fire alarms to go off when there was no there actually was a malfunction, and the fire alarm really did go off at around 7:30 in the morning. So all the events written in the story are things that I experienced when the alarm went off.**

**For those wondering, the director of my dorm actually did have a large dog in her room (a husky, to be precise). Service dogs were allowed on campus, but her dog was just a pet. As a result, he wasn't accustomed to dorm life and caused a lot of issues. Somehow, the two were still allowed to stay, though.**


	27. Words

**Welcome back to another short story in 20 Minutes in Fall! As always, enjoy!**

* * *

_October 27, 2018_

_You've discovered a hidden talent that seems useless to you._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 76). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Words**

I had no idea where my talent that come from.

All I knew was that I could command the words.

As soon as thoughts entered my head, they flowed onto the paper.

It was like art of indescribable beauty, yet with no pictures to show.

A painting with the finest tools, allowing an entire world to exist within one's head.

A language almost everyone could understand, and a way of bringing others together.

All with my words.

But there were other ways the talent showed itself.

Such as deciphering the language others had written, and bringing their words together with mine.

Allowing myself to see the pictures they had painted, and seeing what they had commanded.

And then there was the sound that came with the words.

A sound that could reach an entire room of countless people, yet leave them all with one message.

A voice that could capture countless others, ensnaring them with those commanding words.

It seemed like the talent was limitless.

Until it wasn't.

For the talent grew almost worthless, as the words could not ascend.

They had reached a point where they could communicate with anyone, but could go no higher than that.

But I was convinced that wasn't true.

That the words were practical for something.

So I tried to use them to teach and bestow the command upon others.

There were works to edit too, from those had not completely mastered the language.

But it was not enough.

The ability to command words did not equal the ability to survive using them.

And so, I thought, that commanding the words was useless.

What good was a talent without practicality?

What good was something special without substance?

No good, I figured.

The talent was fruitless, best left discarded, never to be used again.

But then…

I found I couldn't stop.

No matter what, the command was mine.

The words flowed like water, as the language came again.

The language used to communicate with so many others, to paint vivid pictures without any tools.

The language written by so many, yet at my hands to decipher.

It was back, and I followed its lead.

And so the command lead me to places with others of my kind.

Those who could command the language to a point, and could enjoy those that employed it masterfully.

And so, my talent was demonstrated there as the words flowed effortlessly.

People flocked, happiness on their faces and many wanting more.

And so the words kept on flowing, as the command continued leading.

And I finally discovered the talent wasn't worthless.

Because the words could be used to make countless people happy.


	28. Regret

**Welcome back to another short story in 20 minutes in Fall! As always, enjoy!**

* * *

_October 28, 2018_

_Getting caught trespassing._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 78). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Regret**

It seemed like such a good idea.

After all, everyone knew about that crazy house.

The one where old and bendy trees filled the surrounding area, and it blended right in on a cloudy day.

The house that no one, not even adults, went into.

And yet…

It spawned so many rumors…

Perhaps there were toys in there that no one had ever seen.

Or old books dating back to time immemorial.

And then there were timeless relics, never being uncovered …

Maybe there were ghosts terrorizing the place, or some sort of monster…

Maybe something fantastic, a beast that had never before walked this world…

Or maybe there was treasure and riches just waiting to be found…

Some claimed that the person in the house was just a creepy elder, but it was hard to imagine how someone that reclusive could be human at all.

That was why…

I had to find out what lived there.

No matter what happened.

And so I set out that morning.

I thought that maybe some early bird would wake up and question what I was doing.

But thankfully, not a single soul stopped me.

So I made my way to the front of my yard, stopping just where I could see the house.

I had to admit that the rising sun made it look less intimidating.

But it didn't make it any less worth exploring.

So off I headed on my lonesome journey.

The familiarity of my yard was now replaced by that of the owner of the house.

The green grass seemed to go all the way up to my knees, and I almost tripped a few times.

Whoever it was surely didn't consider getting the lawn cut as important.

But with that task being so boring, it was easy to forget.

Nevertheless, I continued at a brisk pace.

If I let uncut grass scare me, I would never make it to my destination.

After what seemed like forever, I approached it.

The house loomed before me, old trees with branches threatening like whips.

The sun had softened the frightfulness before, yet now the clouds were just starting to roll in.

The darkness began to cover everything.

And yet I steeled myself.

I couldn't let my journey end just because of some stupid clouds!

Closer and closer I crept…

To the sidewalk, up the steps, and at last to the house's doors…

Mercifully, the house appeared to be unlocked, so it seemed to be an easy invitation.

I wasn't sure who would leave their house unlocked, but it was all the better for me.

So I reached up, placing my hand on the handle.

I was just about to turn it when I heard a gruff voice.

"Why are you trying to enter my house? Ah, I knew I forgot to lock the door when I went out today!"

At that moment, my face blanched.

I still didn't know what was inside the house.

But I knew I had been caught trying to find out.

And making my entire journey was my biggest regret.


	29. Cure

**Welcome back to another short story in 20 Minutes in Fall! See the author's notes for details, and as always, enjoy!**

* * *

_October 29, 2018_

_You've discovered that you have a natural ability to create the most beautiful art (be it painting, writing, music, etc.) that has ever been experienced. Upon going to the doctor, you discover that the reason for this newfound talent is a brain tumor. You must make a decision between your health and your art._

_Kinder, Ryan Andrew. 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts (p. 80). RAK Press. Kindle Edition._

**Cure**

"They've found a cure."

I couldn't believe my ears that while my doctors were telling me.

But they simply repeated the words.

"They've found a cure for cerebral palsy."

My eyes could only go wide, and I could only sit in stunned silence.

This would mean…

That there would be no more brain damage…

No more limping…

No more pain…

No more having to rely on others for anything…

No more having to constantly adapt things, and having inconveniences appear when that wasn't properly done…

No more having to rely on walkers, wheelchairs, and motor scooters…

No more having to rely any tool…

Not even the ones my family had made for me…

With all their love and hopes inside…

No more walking slowly…

I could run, I could sprint, I could fly…

I could finally keep up with normal people, anytime, anywhere…

I couldn't stop my voice from trembling as I spoke.

"This treatment… When is it available?"

One of the doctors calmly answered. "It's available now. You probably have to go through a few trial runs, but based on what you've had to do to manage your symptoms in the past, we're confident it should work."

I could not stop myself from blurting out. "Then why not try it immediately?"

One of the doctors stepped up, a grave expression on his face.

"Because we discovered an unfortunate side effect."

I shuddered.

I knew all about side effects. I had nearly died from some of them.

"What is it?" I asked hoarsely.

The doctor continued. "Well, according to your profile, you are incredibly talented at writing, have a near photographic memory, and get incredibly high grades when in school."

I nodded.

None of that was incorrect.

One could call those things talents that were mine alone.

None of my family knew where they came from, but they accepted and encouraged me to use them.

But what did that have to do with what was happening now?

The doctor's next words sent chills down my spine.

"We discovered that abilities like yours are the direct result of your cerebral palsy."

My face went pale, and my voice so quiet I could barely hear myself.

"You mean, if I get rid of my cerebral palsy…"

The doctor finished my sentence in a serious tone.

"You'll lose everything positive it gave you. You'll be a normal person physically, but that applies to your intellect too. I suppose you could say it's a matter of deciding which is more important."

I closed my eyes.

Which was more important?

Being physically normal had always been something that dreamed of…

But was my life, my passion, and always would be.

And I couldn't imagine living without my memory or my grades.

I knew nothing else than to have them be good.

I'd have to readjust all over again.

And my family.

I would have nothing to make me stand out.

Nothing for them to cheer on.

Nothing for them to be proud of.

I open my eyes and rapidly shook my head.

"I'm sorry. I won't do it. It's not worth losing everything else that I have. Perhaps, there'll come a time when there is no such side effect. But until then, I will live with my disorder."

The doctor responded.

"Okay. I wish you luck."

The others on the team did the same, and within a couple minutes, I was alone in the room.

I simply sat down, slowly processing what happened.

I didn't know if my choice was right or wrong.

But I did know I still had the disorder plaguing me my entire life.

And I had just walked away from a cure.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

**-So I got this from prompt, and decided to play around with it a bit. While the prompt talks about brain tumors, I chose to use cerebral palsy to make more relatable. Cerebral palsy is a disorder that damages and affects the parts of the brain that control movement. I have this disorder, and everything mentioned in the story aside from the cure being found our experiences and symptoms I have or have had. The talents for writing, memory, and schoolwork are also talents that I have in real life. Just like in the story, no one in my family knows where these guys came from. However, a common theory is that I have them to compensate for the brain damage caused by cerebral palsy. Therefore, I thought it would be perfect to use myself as an example for this prompt, with a few changes.**


	30. Sweetness

**Welcome back to another short story in 20 Minutes in Fall! As always, enjoy!**

* * *

_October 30, 2018_

_Sugar: Write something so sweet, it makes your teeth hurt._

_365 Creative Writing Prompts, Think_

**Sweetness**

Perhaps people are born with the taste for sweetness.

I didn't exactly know, and I wasn't about to pretend that I did.

However, I understood that whatever made a person love and crave sweetness, my family had it in spades.

It was a well-known fact that we would get our hands on anything sugary we could put into our mouths.

But then again, maybe it was because we had talents with it.

That was my grandmother, and her homemade bread…

She'd make any type requested, for any occasion, and even when there wasn't one…

And of course, the whole family couldn't wait to savor the delight…

She passed the skill down to my sister as well, and my sister made many more dishes with her proficient baking.

All of them were a treat to the tongue, with each bite eliciting a craving for more…

Even the bread with vegetables and fruits thrilled others with its sugary delight.

It was no wonder the requests seemed to be nonstop.

But my grandmother wasn't the only one that had this talent.

There was also my mother, on the other family side.

She enjoyed the sweets so much I often wondered if she would eat sugar right out of the bowl.

Maybe she would, because she always made her savory pumpkin pies and rich rhubarb cobblers.

Nothing could compare to having them be straight from rhubarb growing right outside the house.

It was what made them fresher than anything one could buy in a store.

If there was a sweet I craved the most, it was the rhubarb cobbler.

On the stalk in the morning, and in the pie in the evening…

Of course, this was the woman who'd invented the family tradition of spraying whipped cream straight into our mouths…

But the others in my family were not to be outdone.

For there was my aunt as well.

Just give her the word, and she could make any dessert anyone wanted.

It didn't matter what type of allergies, diseases, or other ailments plagued the person.

She could effortlessly make something that everyone could enjoy.

And her most famous was the chocolate mousse.

Light and fluffy to the touch of the hand, yet rich to the touch of the mouth.

One bite was so sweet the tongue would burn.

And yet the body had to have more, because the burning sensation for once was pleasant.

It was no surprise, then, as I followed in their footsteps.

Of course, I was still fledgling, and would be that way for some time.

Yet I had already cooked up a cheesecake with chocolate chips that everyone at Easter loved.

I had made a Mexican three layer cake to introduce the taste to my family, although I swore I wouldn't attempt something so difficult again.

I made one of my family's favorite dishes full of fruit, previously one that only my aunt had made.

I even recreated my grandma's bread, shortly after she left this earth…

Yes, I didn't know where the desire for sugar came from.

But I did know one thing.

And that was that my family was bound by its sweetness.


	31. Types

**Welcome to the final short story in 20 Minutes in Fall! See the other author's notes for details, and enjoy!**

* * *

_October 31, 2018_

_Alarm Clock: Write about waking up._

**Types**

The first thing to note about alarm clocks was all the different types I had.

There was my first real one, with a shrill cry that sounded like a low pitched siren.

Eventually, that one broke. I didn't remember how.

But then there was a new one, a fancy white radio.

Part of the "i" products, some of the most complex and powerful machines available.

It had numerous dials and switches, and numerous purposes to boot.

It could be a radio, a calendar, or even a means to play CDs.

And it functioned as a charger for others of its kind, and played their music as its alarm.

Unfortunately, that music could be soft, and often tried to lull me to sleep.

So the new alarm didn't have much use otherwise, only firing the same blaring tone I'd heard before.

It was back to the old-fashioned ones, it seemed.

At least until I forgot to set them.

Or set them for the wrong time.

Or even fell out of bed trying to get at them, as they stood perched on pedestals.

Eventually it was decided that these new alarms were no good.

And so came yet another one.

A familiar face.

One stronger than any I'd seen before.

Because the newest batch of the "i" products had made it back into my hands.

This one was a tiny device, with an even tinier screen.

And yet its power was unrivaled.

For could be set to any time I wanted within the digital clock.

There was no confusion, and almost no forgetting to turn things on.

For I could set it for every week, every day, every hour if I wanted.

And it didn't matter what time I had to get up.

Because the times could be all different.

And this device could handle them all.

Then there was a myriad of different sounds, probably hundreds.

All designed for one job.

And quite efficient at it too, because no matter what, I could switch the sound to suit my needs.

And it made sure I always woke up.

But of course, even the most powerful devices did not compare to the best alarm of all.

The alarm that went off when my other one did.

The alarm that crawled into my face, licking me and wagging its fluffy tail.

And if I would try to actually get up, it would shove me back down, blocking my way until I played with it to its satisfaction.

There was no more powerful alarm than that, I thought.

I would almost always be plenty awake by then.

And that was if the other two alarms didn't join in.

One hardly ever did, although he sometimes would sit on my legs.

The other stayed at the side, although rarely, she would jump up.

And then I would be pinned, all hope of getting up on my terms dashed.

After all, there was nothing more powerful than an alarm that was alive.

But it was clear that the alarms all served the sole purpose of waking me up.

Regardless of their types.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

**-So the alarms in this story are all based on real alarms that I've had throughout the years. The "i" mentioned in the story refers to a famous line of multitasking electronic devices with the word "i" at the beginning of their names (e.g. iPhone, iPad). The living alarms mentioned near the end of the story are actually based on my dogs. I sleep with my dogs and my bed, so they often heard my alarm go off. Eventually, they learned to recognize the sound, and react in their own ways (most of the time it woke them up too).**

**And so 20 Minutes in Fall, and the challenge it's based on comes to an end. I'm uncertain if I will do anything else like it. However, I am certain that the challenge was interesting and enjoyable to write for.**

**And so I can end this story with a fond farewell, looking forward to whatever stories are produced in the future.**


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